


When First We Met

by LookBetweenTheLines



Series: Complaints of a Hero [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Male!WoL - Freeform, Miqo'te!WoL - Freeform, Patch 2.4, minor spoilers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookBetweenTheLines/pseuds/LookBetweenTheLines
Summary: Aymeric was perhaps a little ashamed at the way his heart fluttered with excitement when the knight opened the door to the intercessory for himself and Lucia.This was the moment he laid eyes on the Warrior of Light in the flesh. The one they called the hero of Eorzea.What would he be like?





	When First We Met

**Author's Note:**

> Simply my own take on what Ser Aymeric may have been thinking during the moment he met my WoL. "I thought he'd be taller."

Camp Dragonhead didn’t seem quite the hostile fortress it usually did on the morning Aymeric de Borel arrived to speak in person to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Well, two of them. Lord Haurchefant had arranged the meeting with his usual fervour and, admittedly, had encouraged it in the first place. Since taking up the mantle of Lord Commander Aymeric had scarcely the time to leave Ishgard proper. The blizzards had ceased for the moment and the thin dusting of snow on the ground sparkled back at him his own excitement, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since he was a recruit. 

One of the Scions, as he had been informed rather offhandedly, was something of an adolescent diplomat from Sharlayan. Haurchefant hadn’t much to say about him other than his name. No, the focus of this pairing was quite clearly the other, an impressive figure dubbed the ‘Warrior of Light' by any and all of import in the Eorzean Alliance. And Haurchefant's new pet of the last few moons, if his account was anything to go by.

Aymeric wasn’t ignorant of the legend of the heroes that all but singlehandedly salvaged Eorzea from the brink of annihilation. No one could remember their names or faces. No one could really recall what they did or what happened to them. Aymeric was quite happy to leave them as simply myth; a brighter twist to the Calamity that went some way to ease the trauma of that epochal event. Not for the first time Aymeric felt a twinge of guilt over his nation's conspicuous absence from that particular battlefield.

To bestow the title of Warrior of Light on this particular man made him something of a living legend. He was an accomplished warrior, there was no denying that, and stories of his triumph over the Black Wolf himself had even made it through the Gates of Judgement. People of the Brume shared whispers of this man.

And for all of Haurchefant's praises, he had never once revealed his name.

Aymeric knew he was a formidable warrior with a heart that drew no boundaries of class or wealth. People were people and they all deserved saving, or so Haurchefant had painted him. In his mind's eye Aymeric pictured a man that cut an imposing figure, a hyur or elezen with face set like stone but kindly eyes. In his thirties maybe; had seen his fair share of battle and turned to adventuring following Carteneau. Armed up to his eyes in plate, of course, with an axe at his back or a sword at his hip.

‘Will the Scions agree to such a proposal?’ Lucia asked as they made their way across the courtyard, dragging Aymeric from his daydream.

‘It is within their interests as much as Ishgard's,’ Aymeric pointed out. This was a matter of diplomacy. It wouldn’t do to turn to mush over this man just because he had won a few unlikely battles.

He was perhaps a little ashamed at the way his heart fluttered with excitement when the knight opened the door to the intercessory for himself and Lucia.

Haurchefant was by the door beaming like a parent showing off his child’s first words. Beyond him was an elezen teen, long white hair pulled back into a braid. His expression was masked like a true politician but their was no hiding his youth or inexperience.

Beyond them both, at the far end of the room with his back to the door...

A miqo'te.

Aymeric would never admit to being stunned by that particular revelation and was certain it never showed on his face. Even with the tips of those pointed ears he reached only maybe five and a half fulms in height. Aymeric had met female miqo’te before, if only in passing, as they were sometimes hired as servants in Coerthas, but he had to admit that this was his first time laying eyes on a male. His hair was crimson, the colour of the very last embers that clung to life at the end of a campfire. When the miqo’te Warrior of Light turned to reveal his face he found two silvery irises, as bright and shining as newly-polished shields, surrounding vertically-aligned pupils. Black markings framed his nose and Aymeric thought he spotted kohl across his eyes, serving to brighten those cutting irises further, though it was not easy to tell beneath the band on his forehead.

Given all of this, it wasn’t the man's face or race that Aymeric found most strange. The long leather coat did nothing to hide his, well, rather _svelte_ figure. There were hints of muscle definition along his exposed biceps but otherwise he was rather lacking in the region of strength. Not only that but the lingering youthfulness in his face indicated that he was just approaching his mid-twenties at most. At his hips were two short twin blades and not an onze of plate anywhere on his person.

 _This_ was the living legend that everyone on Eorzea was gushing about?

Despite Aymeric's best efforts the Warrior must have spotted the furtive appraisal as he promptly did the same back at him, running his eyes across Aymeric's face, pauldrons and robes. Any and all judgements he made he kept to himself.

But Aymeric was not new to this game of diplomacy. He had expressed his interest in meeting this man and Commander Leveilleur had acquiesced. He smiled and began the formal exchange of pleasantries. The young diplomat was as gracious as any budding politician should be. The Warrior of Light remained silent during this exchange but leant them his ear. Quite literally. His nearest ear latched onto their direction. It was a strange sight.

‘I am not too proud to admit that I have followed your activities with an interest bordering on fascination,’ he said to the Warrior, partly because it was true but also because his silence unnerved him.

‘You flatter me, Ser Aymeric,’ said the miqo'te, his voice a smooth timbre that came out deeper than Aymeric was expecting. There was no obvious inflection to the words but he suspected the Warrior wasn’t entirely impressed.

‘Shall we begin?’ he suggested to break the awkwardness.

The discussion grew heated in a matter of moments and Master Leveilleur's youthful temperament showed ere long. The fuzzy-tailed mute sat quietly at the table while his younger companion paced at his side, offering nothing to the debate. He kept his silver eyes on Aymeric while they continued their simmering argument. Until, that is, Aymeric sensed the time to reveal his proposal and sat back in his chair.

It was a simple trade. He could ensure that aid shipments would continue unabated to Revenant’s Toll in exchange for the Scions' surveillance over the entangled remains of the _Agrius_ and Midgardsormr.

Master Leveilleur pondered the simplicity of the proposal for several moments. The Warrior, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes to silver slits. Up until that moment Aymeric had presumed him to be little more than a breathing weapon for the Scions to wield at their will, but there was a spark of something in that stare that indicated a brain at work behind.

‘I accept,’ said the boy—for that was what he was, clever or no. ‘I will see that you are kept abreast of any developments.’

The Warrior's expression softened somewhat at his agreement but Aymeric could scarcely tell if he concurred or not.

Master Leveilleur's temper suitably doused, Aymeric allowed himself to smile at his postulations about a future united Eorzea. If he were free to speak his own mind he would have agreed that together they stood a better chance of defending against the Garlean threat.

The pleasant turn took a nosedive when a Fortemps knight came crashing into the room.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Haurchefant demanded, scowling at the harried knight.

‘The caravan, my lord! It’s been attacked!’ panted the knight, almost forgetting to lift his hand to his chest in a salute. ‘It was Iceheart, my lord!’

Haurchefant lurched to his feet. A silence as brittle as blown glass permeated the room.

It was broken by a soft sigh. ‘Please excuse me.’

And with one fluid motion, the Warrior got to his feet and followed the knight outside, fingers already brushing the handles of his blades.

Haurchefant softened in an instant, like a disgruntled cat appeased by a scratch behind the ear. Master Leveilleur trotted after his comrade in a somewhat less graceful manner.

Left alone with just Lucia and Haurchefant, the latter swung around to address the pair of them. ‘Isn’t Z'kila just marvellous?’

Z'kila.

Aymeric narrowed his eyes at the commander of Camp Dragonhead and his long-time friend. He kept his name a secret on purpose, of that he was now certain. A name like that would have given away the fact that he was a miqo’te immediately. ‘Was now really the best time to surprise me, Lord Haurchefant?’

‘Whatever do you mean, Lord Commander?’ Haurchefant asked with theatrical levels of innocence.

Aymeric huffed and leant back in his chair.

Z'kila. A tricky one, to say the least. Aymeric had imagined an imposing, possibly frightening individual capable of slaying false gods. And Z'kila was all of those things. Just not in the ways he expected.

His interest had bounded beyond the point of fascination, there was no denying it. Now he had met the man, the living legend, perhaps he could keep a closer eye on him, his movements, his battles. He was the Scions' weapon, aye, but he was also a man with thoughts and ideas of his own. Anyone that powerful could be a threat as much as a hero.


End file.
